


Watching (Over) You

by Tahlruil



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Good Alpha Pack, How Do I Tag, Or at least non-evil Alpha Pack, Panic Attacks, Past abuse/torture, Possibly Pre-Slash, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stiles Searches for Erica and Boyd, Stiles Stilinski-centric, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-08-23 19:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahlruil/pseuds/Tahlruil
Summary: Erica and Boyd were supposed to meet him. After the hell that had been the Argent's basement, they were supposed to meet him at home. Instead, they'd vanished into thin air, leaving Stiles frustrated and ready to tear his hair out. Derek won't talk to him and won't let him talk to Peter, Scott doesn't seem to care, and the Sheriff has other things to deal with. That's not going to stop Stiles from looking for his friends...And in doing so, he's going to change everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo... this has been rattling around in my head since the end of June. XD I was at a con and met Gideon Emery, and he both smiled at me pretty and then signed my autograph with 'The Demon Wolf is watching over you', so this is entirely his fault. I would have waited longer to post - I have so many other WIPs ;.; - but it got to the point where I literally could not write anything else until I started this.
> 
> Yeah, tags will probably change and this is almost certainly pre-slash. No idea what the actual pairing will end up being tho. I shall discover that alongside all of you. XD
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments would be greatly appreciated. <3

Summer was fading fast and Stiles was running out of ideas just as quickly.

He had thought it would be so fucking easy at first, mostly because he'd been sure the two of them would be at home. That's where they were supposed to be; it was where they'd _promised_ to be. Initially Stiles had thought maybe they'd just misunderstood and gone to their own homes. He'd been sore and exhausted enough that he had flopped into bed and determined to check on them in the morning when he felt like a person again. Only then it had been too late.

Erica and Boyd had vanished, and they had _promised_ not to. Boyd's mom had already been frantic with worry and there was no way he'd do that to her. Not after what had happened to Alicia. Erica's parents hadn't been quite so worried, or at least not at first. They were very zen about the whole 'rebellion' she'd been staging lately and assumed her being missing was just another way to 'test boundaries'. But then a week went by, and then another. Boyd's mom and grandma were already grieving their boy by the time Eric's parents were ready to face the fact that their little girl wasn't just playing a prank.

He had breakfast with both families every Sunday. Stiles wasn't sure if it was for them or for him.

There was a chance they'd really made a run for it. Maybe once he'd gone off to save the day they had rethought the whole thing. Derek was trying but he was still a fucking dick almost all the time. He could barely handle the guy and he didn't have a mystical, mumbo-jumbo bond with the wolf. So he got it, why they'd want to leave.

But they'd bonded, goddammit. In that basement, tied up and at the mercy of Hunters, they'd fucking bonded. You didn't watch someone else get tortured and walk away the same person. Going through that... fuck. They'd all at one point or another begged Gerard to stop hurting someone and hurt them instead. Boyd had roared until Argent was forced to turn his attention to the 'wolf when Stiles began to spit blood; Stiles distracted and goaded Gerard into beating on his ribs when Erica made a low, whining keen; Erica had struggled enough to earn a shock-stick to the face when the geriatric asshole started pulling out Boyd's fingernails.

That sort of thing really brought people together.

So when they'd been let go by a vaguely guilty looking Chris Argent, Stiles had made them promise. There'd been shit to take care of, but he'd said to meet him at home later. He'd thought... they had agreed to shower and get themselves together and then meet up. He'd kind of been hoping for a puppy pile like he’d read about in all those weird internet stories about werewolves, to be honest.

He still didn't go looking when they weren't at Casa de Stilinksi, and then they were gone.

No matter what Derek pretended to believe Stiles knew they hadn't just run away again. Not without telling him. Not without being where they had _promised_ they would be first.

Something had happened to them, he knew it. It didn't even take looking into Derek's conflicted eyes to figure it out. The guy was pretty, but he definitely wasn't an actor. The idea creeped him out a lot, but if he could manage to get in a room with Peter for more than five seconds, he was sure he'd get more out of the no longer quite as crazy werewolf. Unfortunately (or fortunately, he hadn't decided yet) Derek was keeping them separate. Maybe it was the way Stiles had like, lit the dude on fire or something. Maybe he thought Peter was holding a grudge.

Either way, he was getting nothing helpful out of them. Scott was too busy trying to pump up his brain so he didn't nearly fail again to be of any help. And anyway his best friend didn't seem to care that much. It was fair, a little, except for the part where the two missing teens might be dead or be being tortured as they spoke. Took a lot of the 'fair' right out of it.

So with Derek and the police having no luck, and with Scott totally uninterested... Stiles knew he was on his own.

On his own, running out of leads, and with nothing to show for his summer of searching but a giant board full of red strings that went nowhere.

~.~.~

"Stiles, sweetheart... you really shouldn't be here this late."

The waitress' voice was so familiar and expected that he didn't so much as jerk when it interrupted his thoughts. He looked up briefly from his map to shoot her a smile, one that she immediately returned. Despite what she'd said, the woman still refilled his coffee cup; he did note that it was definitely from the orange-lipped decaff pot instead of the regular stuff. It wasn't worth picking a fight over, so he let it go.

"I know, I know. I've just got--"

"A project," they said together, and Helen's smile turned fond. "I know sweetie. You've always got a project. It's just been a long time since I've seen you here this late. Should I... do I need to call your father, Stiles?" A loaded question if there ever was one. Helen had met the Stilinski men when they were at their worst, when Stiles was a twelve year old needy ball of loud and anxious energy and the Sheriff had still been deep in the bottle. Things were... better now, mostly, but Stiles was sure that was how she still saw them.

"No. He's out on patrol. I promise! I'm not here avoiding him. I just..." His board had been mocking him for his failure and the house had been too quiet even with his music playing. None of it made it easier to focus. "I just needed to be out for a little while so I could think. That's all."

"If you say so. Sheriff or not I _will_ call him though. If you need me to."

"I don't, but thanks for looking out for me. Hey, you know what would do me some good?"

"Curly fries and a chocolate shake?"

"You know me so well. Also - can I get the caffeinated coffee back, or...?"

"No you may not. Decaff or nothing now - I've cut you off. I'll be right back with the other things though." Helen ruffled his hair, something he wouldn't let anyone else get away with. Well, maybe his dad. "And I want you out of here and headed back home once you've finished eating those fries, you hear? I know it's summer, but that's no excuse for loitering in run-down diners all night."

"Loitering? Loitering?! I am hurt, Helen. Mortally wounded and ready to expire." She just laughed and kept walking away, but that didn't stop him. "By the time you get back I'll have perished because of your hurtful, unnecessary words!" Once she disappeared into the kitchen, he dropped the whole act along with his smile and went back to staring at his map.

There were so many 'X's scattered over it, so many places where he'd looked and found _nothing_. Not a trace of either of them and it didn't really mean a damned thing. If Hunters were responsible and they knew he was looking, they might be moving the two teens daily, and he would never know until it was too late. Or they could have been taken out of town entirely, which was an incredibly disheartening thought.

Would he ever find the bodies?

"They are _not_ going to be bodies," he whispered furiously to himself. "Not if I have anything to say about it." The cap came off his marker and went into his mouth instead; he rolled it over his lips and tongue, teeth settling into the well-worn grooves at the closed end. As he played with it, he marked off the two new locations he'd gone over that had been duds. He was getting close to the warehouse district, which meant soon he was going to have to be on the lookout for fucking Derek and Peter too. It would tie his hands, which was why he hadn't ventured there before. He'd never forgive himself if that's where his friends had been kept all along.

"Excuse me." This voice was enough to make him jump in his seat and draw a long, red line through his map. He also upset his stupid decaff coffee, then lost his cap when he yelped and yanked his precious map off the flooding table. There were a few beats where his harsh, nearly panicked breaths were the only sounds in the place, and then they were joined by the slow drip of coffee hitting the floor.

There were a few more long, long beats where Stiles stared at the table and felt like someone else was staring at him. Except... except when he finally looked up at the man who'd spoken, there were dark glasses covering his eyes and a white cane held loosely between his fingers. The guy was blind, so he _couldn't_ be staring at Stiles... but he still felt the weight of someone's whole attention.

"I have no idea what just occurred, but I feel like I should apologize nonetheless."

"Nah. I mean, you startled me a little," a lot, he'd been very startled as a matter of fact. "But it's not your fault I spazzed. I do that. Did you, uh... did you... need... hold on a sec. Helen!" Blind Guy didn't even flinch at his suddenly raised voice, which was sort of impressive. Clearly he was _not_ a spazz. "Can I get some towels out here? Like... a couple? There's a lake on my table."

"And you wonder why I cut off the caffeine!" she shouted back while the cook laughed. He stuck his tongue out in the direction of the kitchen, happy to be childishly petty when there was nobody around to see it. "I'll be there in just a sec hon. Move to a different table, alright?"

"Yeah, fine. Gimme just a second, alright?" he added to Blind Guy. "I made a mess."

"Please, take your time. I have a feeling the mess is largely my fault to begin with. I could carry something to another table, if you'd like?" It felt like a test. It probably wasn't, but it felt like it. So he weighed his options carefully, then grabbed his backpack from the seat beside him.

"If you don't mind moving this, it'd help."

"Of course." The man held out his hand, and there was a moment where Stiles just stared at it, not entirely sure what the hell he was supposed to be doing. When he finally figured it out, he couldn't keep a soft 'oh!' from escaping, and then he held his bag out even further. He felt like an idiot for blushing as he used one of his hands to help the man grab hold of it, but it was a totally understandable reaction. The guy was hot, in an old, English kind of way, and his hand was warm and calloused against Stiles' own. As a virgin who was unhappy about it, he couldn't be too mad at his body for betraying him that way.

And, again, there was no one around to see it so he was fine.

"Uh, you can use the back of the booths to, you know--"

"I do know." By some miracle the guy sounded amused rather than offended. "I've been blind for some time now - I do have some idea of how to maneuver around the world."

"Right. Sorry."

"Think nothing of it."

With that the man was moving, stick tapping at the ground in a soft rhythm. It should have been awkward, the way he was feeling for the booths with the same hand that held his backpack, but it wasn't. The guy managed to make it look... elegant, and he was super jealous. It took him a moment to shake himself out of it, and then he started to gather up the rest of his stuff. His map he carefully blotted against his shirt, privately mourning that ugly line that didn't mean a damn thing - he was going to have to get another one. Once it was as safe as it was going to get, he tucked it into his back pocket for later perusal.

His pens and markers were next, most of them covered in coffee. Muttering to himself, he inched out of the booth, trying to keep the still-hot liquid from dripping down onto his pants. He was mostly successful, though the bit that did hit him caused a sharp intake of breath and maybe a first degree burn. He'd have to check once he got home - that's where his first aid kit was anyway.

"Sorry Helen," he said when she joined him, unable to keep the misery from his voice. "I can clean it up."

"Oh, shoo. I'm sure it was an accident and this is my job. You go sit down and wait for your fries, okay sweetie?"

"Yes ma'am." She ruffled his hair _again_, and he was starting to have second thoughts about growing it out. He snagged a few of the non-soaked napkins from his first table and began trying to dry his writing utensils as he headed for the booth the man had dropped his bag off at. Except... the guy was still there, sitting in one of the booths like he had every right to be there.

Which he did, of course. It was just that his backpack was on the seat opposite the guy. He knew enough about social niceties to know he couldn't just yoink his bag back and slink off to another table. That would be incredibly rude, so he was just going to have to suck it up and pretend to be good company for a while until the guy got bored and went somewhere else.

"Thanks for moving my bag. My life's in there." It should have been a joke... but it wasn't. Alongside the jar of mountain ash and boxed collection of different strains of wolfsbane, he had a gun equipped with a variety of bullets to take on any threat he encountered - supernatural or not. His bat was all well and good, but he didn't think it would impress the Hunters that had to be holding Erica and Boyd.

"I only hope it didn't get too wet then. I apologize for startling you."

"Dude, that was totally not your fault. I'm a spazz who gets hyper fixated - it's almost impossible not to startle me. Did you, uh... need something earlier?"

It was sort of surreal, sitting down with some strange guy at 3AM in his favorite diner. Sort of seemed like the start of a movie, but fuck if he knew what genre it was supposed to be. Probably horror with the way his life had been going lately, but it didn't quite have that feel to it. Not like his first meetings with Derek and Peter and even Gerard had.

"I had just hoped you would help me with the menu," the man said with a disarming smile. "As I assume there isn't one readily available in Braille."

"Yeah no. I mean, if you were closer to Beacon Heights University there probably would be thanks to, you know, inclusiveness and diversity and all that. But uh, here we don't... there is no way to end this in a way that doesn't make me sound like a douchebag."

"No, but I look forward to hearing you try."

"Wow, you're kind of a dick."

"You would say that to a blind man?"

"One who's kind of a dick? Absolutely." The man's laughter came as a surprise, rich and loud enough to send shivers down his spine. The good kind of shivers though, which was a nice fucking change. "I'm Stiles. No it's not my real name, no I won't tell you what my real name is, and I'm aware it sounds weird."

"Ah. Well then. My name is Deucalion. Yes it's my real name, someday I might allow you to call me 'Deuc', and I am delighted to make your acquaintance Stiles."

"I don't think anyone has ever said that before. Huh. Alright, so you needed help with the menu right? Let's see... I haven't looked at one since I was like... seven."

"Lives on fries and chocolate shakes, our Stiles," Helen interrupted. She was watching Deucalion hard, like he was some kind of child snatcher, which rude. Not only was he not a kid, he'd been dealing with monsters and shit for a little over a year now. He could handle himself against some blind guy. "Can I get you some coffee to start? You're still on decaff, kiddo, but I'll bring you a cup of that if you want."

"Tyrant."

"Coffee sounds lovely. If you could give us a few moments, I'll be ready to order some food."

"I bet you will be." Helen looked between the two of them, then gestured to her eyes and then back to Stiles. He promptly rolled his eyes, wondering what exactly the fuck she though Deucalion was going to do to him in the middle of a cr... alright, the diner was pretty deserted, but still. She gave the older man another long look before heading off, glancing back over her shoulder several times on the way.

"Sorry. She's--"

"Protective. It speaks well of her. I could have all kinds of unsavory plans after all."

"Riiiight. You gonna start these unsavory plans with breakfast food or food-food?"

"Breakfast, I think. It is morning."

"Don't remind me. Let's see... they've got... do you really want me to read like, all of this? Or do you want to tell me what you like and I'll look for it?"

"Any recommendations?"

"Waffles."

"That was fast."

"They're delicious, so... no contest. You an egg guy or a bacon guy?"

"Sausage and egg guy, actually." He didn't mean to snort out loud in disgust, but Deucalion didn't seem particularly offended by it. "Is there a problem?"

"What? No. If you like gross things you like gross things. Totally your right dude. Let's see... you like your eggs fried, scrambled, hard boiled?"

"Fried."

"Hmm. Better. How hungry are you?"

"Starving."

A little hint of... something... raced along his arms and down his spine. It wasn't fear, exactly, more like awareness. For just a second he'd felt like _prey_ in a way he hadn't felt since he'd met Peter's eyes in the hospital for the first time. It was gone as quick as it came though, so he brushed it off quickly.

"Right. Uh... probably the double stack of waffles is your best bet - comes with a side of eggs, your choice of meat and some toast. White, wheat or rye I think. And I guess you could probably do pancakes or french toast instead of waffles. Both are also pretty good, but the waffles really take the cake."

"Hmm."

Just then Helen returned, with a coffee for Deucalion and Stiles' fries and shake balanced on the other arm. She clearly wanted him to go eat at another table, but that would be rude. He was trying not to be so rude anymore. During their silent contest of wills, the other man breathed in the aroma, then went groping for something on the table.

"You looking for cream or sugar?" he asked, eyes challenging Helen to say something out loud, which she was refusing to do.

"Sugar. Is it in packets or one of those containers?"

"Packets." Stiles nabbed the little carousel, then pushed it closer to the other man, never taking his eyes off his stubborn waitress. "Here they are." Thank God he had awesome peripheral vision; he was able to gently take Deucalion's hand and guide it toward the right slot so he could fish out what he needed without ever breaking eye contact. "I don't see any pink or blue packets mixed in, so that should be the real stuff."

"Thank you Stiles. It's nice to meet a young man who's so helpful."

For some reason that was what broke Helen, and she set his order down on the able with an unnecessarily loud 'thump'.

"What can I get for you then sir?"

As soon as Deucalion made his order and Helen departed, an awkward silence fell over the table. He watched the man get his coffee the way he liked it, which felt weird and oddly intimate but that didn't stop him. Once that was done and the man was sipping at his drink, he finally snagged a fry, dunked it in the shake and popped it into his mouth. Bliss was immediate, and he let out a quiet moan of enjoyment. The other man seemed to freeze a second, then shook off... whatever the fuck that had been about.

"What are you eating, may I ask?"

"Fries and a chocolate shake. Great apart, but together it's heaven. I can see that you've lived a sheltered life," he added at the man's confused, amused expression. "And have not yet tasted the fucking delight that is a salty fry dipped in frozen chocolate goodness. Here--"

He used a larger fry to scoop up another portion of shake, then made to hand it over. Abruptly he realized how fucking stupid he was, because how was this supposed to work? He sure as hell wasn't going to feed it to the guy! Realizing his blunder, the man actually chuckled a little bit, then reached out as well. It was up to Stiles to find that questing hand yet again and carefully pass the loaded fry over. Deucalion almost seemed to regard it for a moment, nostrils flaring, before he opened his mouth and popped the whole thing in just as Stiles had done. He paused briefly, went 'hmmm', then continued chewing. Stiles was practically dancing in his seat, waiting for a verdict.

"Yes, alright. You weren't wrong. Those are delicious. Rather messy though - I think I'll pass for today. Perhaps next time I'm in here."

"You're new in town, right?" Again with the brief moment of tension, which was admittedly a little shady. "Sheriff's kid," he said with a shrug. It was not only an explanation but also a warning. From the brief smile that touched Deucalion's lips he knew it too. "I know just about everybody in town and the surrounding areas. I guess you could be visiting from another part of Beacon County, but--"

"You were right the first time. I moved in... oh, a few weeks ago now. Some of my friends were also moving to the area and thought I should... how did they put it? Shake up my routine and live a little, I think they said. Since I work from home location doesn't really matter to me, and the idea of living close to friends was... appealing, I decided to take the bait and move."

"So you and your friends are close?"

"Closer than family, even. Now, since I answered your question... would you mind if I asked one?"

"Ask away."

"No promise of an answer... good. Clever lad. My question is... what are you doing out so late? I've gotten good at guessing ages from the way people talk, and you can't be more than... what? 16? 17?"

"17," he admitted grudgingly.

"You're 17 and it is now almost 3:30 in the morning. What on earth are you doing here?"

Stiles debated for a few moments, then decided fuck it. Nobody else would listen to him - nobody but the Boyd and Reyes families anyway - and it wasn't like this guy was going to become a permanent fixture in his life. It was a chance meeting, nothing more... and sometimes it was easier to talk to a stranger.

"Two of my friends went missing at the end of last semester," he said. Talking in a near whisper felt right, because the topic was about as close to sacred as he got. "There was... things were bad at the end of school this year. They tried to run once, but they... they changed their minds, you know? And we were supposed to meet up one night, but they weren't where I thought they'd be. I should have..." he paused when he heard the shake in his voice and took a deep breath. "I should have gone looking for them, but I didn't. I figured I'd find them in the morning and check in then. No one... no one has seen them since that night."

There were tears in his eyes and he _hated_ that. How could he find them if he kept being so... so weak? Suddenly there was a hand covering his, and when he looked up at Deucalion there was compassion in his face. If it wasn't for that, if it wasn't for the hint of understanding he was sure he could see, Stiles would have shrugged off that comforting touch. As it was, he let it stay while he angrily swiped his eyes with the other hand.

"And I know that it isn't... it's not my _fault_ since I didn't do anything to them, but it still... I should have gone looking. I should have _found them_ by now."

"So you were here...?"

"Trying to figure out where to look for them next."

"Stiles..." Deucalion seemed to be searching for the right words, and he pulled his hand away to take off his glasses. He only got a brief glimpse of painfully red, raised skin before the man had covered them with his hand instead, massaging the area. "I can understand it, being upset that your friends are missing. I know if any of my... if any of my people were to vanish, it would drive me insane. But you're only 17. What do you think you'll be able to _do_ about it?"

The Molotov he'd thrown at Peter flashed through his mind. He remembered _willing_ there to be enough mountain ash to finish the circle, remembered holding Derek up long enough to save them both. He'd faced down werewolves and Hunters and a pissed off kanima. It had been him who had decided to kidnap fucking Jackson Whittemore, and he'd given up a dream he'd been holding onto since he was about five years old to save the asshole. Maybe he didn't have superpowers, but he wasn't helpless either.

"I'm going to find them," he told the man with absolutely no uncertainty. "And then I'm going to bring them home."

Deucalion had replaced his glasses by the time Stiles was done talking; he had the oddest feeling that he was being studied. More than that, he was being weighed... and for one in his life it didn't feel like he'd been found wanting when it was over.

"I believe you can. I hope so, at the very least. That's a commendable attitude you have there."

"I mean, I'm not an army brat or anything, but... you shouldn't leave a man behind, you know? And I think they're in trouble and no one is _listening_. So I have to do something."

"The Sheriff isn't investigating? Not even when you feel so strongly about it?"

"My dad's got... he's got other things to worry about. And I think... I think maybe another friend is looking too and just won't let me in on it."

Whatever answer Deucalion might have given was lost when Helen returned. She gave the man his order and gave Stiles his bill along with a meaningful look. The waitress clearly thought they'd been talking too long and that it was time for him to be getting home. She really would call the station and give his dad an earful when he came to pick him up... so he would be wise to heed the look.

"Yeah, okay. I get it - you want me gone. Geeze. Can I have a to-go container for my fries, or is that asking too much?"

"Stiles, I do love you but you stop sassing me right now or I'll wash that smart mouth out with soap."

"Yes ma'am."

"I'll be right back with your box and your change sweetie."

He waited until she was out of earshot to groan and hide his face in his hands. "Oh my Goood. That was so embarrassing."

"She cares for you. It's not a bad thing."

"I basically just got sent to my room. By someone who isn't even my parent. It's a bad. Believe me - it's a bad."

"Oh stop. There's no need to be embarrassed. Do you have all your things gathered up? I'd hate for you to leave something behind when she chases you out."

"Again - kind of a dick." Deucalion smiled at him again, though he didn't earn another laugh. It was fucking stupid to be disappointed by that. "But yeah, I've got most of it. And she's being kind of rude right now since she's worried you're like, after my virtue or something stupid like that, but--"

"Virtue? Virtue... ah. A virgin then, are we Stiles?"

"None of your business, _Deuc_," he returned, knowing he sounded peeved and hating it. It was just a sore spot, that was all. "Anyway. Helen's a great lady. She'll help you out with anything you need once I'm gone. You better tip her well or I'm coming after you."

"I'm trembling in my boots."

"Yeah, well."

With that epic comeback, he began packing away his pens, though he left his favorite marker to be thrown into the trash. It wouldn't work anymore anyway. Once Helen came back, he shoved his fries into the takeaway container and put a lid on his shake. Deucalion didn't speak the whole time, merely began to carefully - almost delicately - eat his food. He was soon left standing awkwardly by the table, ready to leave but not quite sure how to do it.

"Uh... so. It was nice to meet you. Sorry for spazzing at first. And for calling you a dick. Only kinda sorry for that one though."

Another smile was directed his way, and the man even stopped eating to hold out his hand again. Stiles took it with a grin of his own, pleased without really knowing why. They shook hands for a long moment before he finally pulled away, hooking his thumbs through the straps of his backpack instead.

"You don't have a thing to apologize for, Stiles. It was lovely to meet you. I hope to run into you again sometime."

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll see you around. It's a small town." Well, it wasn't really... but it always felt like it. "Have a nice night."

"You as well."

He looked back several times as he headed out the door, but Deucalion seemed to have forgotten he existed already. Well, it was stupid to judge that by the way the man never looked towards him, he guessed. The guy was blind, so lingering glances totally weren't in his repertoire. And what did it matter?

The guy had just been a friendly stranger, nothing more. Maybe they'd see each other around - sort of - but it wasn't like they were friends or anything. Deucalion was old enough to be his dad, for one thing. So there was no reason to feel like this little meeting had any significance beyond getting a chance to get a few things off his chest.

It still felt like something had changed. He only hoped it was for the better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is under-edited and possibly terrible. XD I can't stand trying to finesse it any longer though, so I throw it out into the void for your enjoyment!
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3

Watching Scott do one-handed pull-ups while holding a book in the other was equal parts fascinating and infuriating. On the one hand, a little less than a year ago even talking too fast would have been enough to trigger an asthma attack. On the other, he was trying to talk about something serious and his best friend was completely ignoring him to do a study/bodybuilding combo.

"So," he tried yet again, clenching his teeth to keep from screaming. "You won't help me because--"

"Look, I know you're upset--"

"Upset?"

"--but we know they ran from Derek once before--"

"_Upset_?"

"--so I think we should probably just kinda, you know. Wait and see what happens." Not once - not for one single fucking word - did Scott stop his dumb exercises. His eyes never lifted from his book, and the level of 'don't give a fuck' rolling off the werewolf only added fuel to the fire of Stiles' rage. "They're probably fine. School starts soon so I'm sure they'll be back by then."

"Are you like... high right now? Did you find the doggy version of catnip or something?"

"What?"

"Scott. They've been missing for _months_. You seriously think they're just gonna... what? Walk into school like nothing happened?"

"Maybe? I don't know Stiles." Irritation in his voice, Scott finally dropped to the ground and looked away from his book. "Look. I hope they're okay - I do. But I have a lot on my plate right now. I don't know if you remember this, but last year school didn't exactly go well for me." He couldn't help but stare, because what the fuck? "I need to do better this year. If I want to stay captain of the lacrosse team--"

"Oh, no. Yeah. I can see where that would be way more important than Erica and Boyd's lives."

"Why do you always have to be so dramatic?"

"Oh my God. I'm being dramatic? I'm being dramatic. _Dramatic_? You think? You think I'm being dramatic. I mean, two of our friends--"

"I don't know if friends is really--"

"Okay, fuck you. Maybe we weren't besties before, but Erica and Boyd--"

"Spent a lot of time last year trying to kill Lydia." Scott said the words like they were a trump card, triumph on his face. And that would have been true, before. Once the thought of anyone trying to hurt his Queen, who shone brighter than all the stars in the fucking sky, would have filled him with fury. Eight or nine months ago he would have thought Erica and Boyd deserved whatever the fuck they got for daring to even think about harming a single, beautiful, strawberry blond hair on her head... but that had been before. Before Lydia saved Jackson through love, before the two 'wolves had gone missing.

Before _Gerard_.

"--so I really think you should just let it go."

His vision started to narrow, while the words 'just let it go' seemed to echo in his ears for a long moment before they turned to a ringing sound. He fumbled for a source of stability and couldn't reach for Scott; he ended up swaying hard into the battered bookshelf Melissa used to store her trashy romance novels. He honestly wasn't sure if he was about to faint or in danger of spiraling into a panic attack, but he was _damned_ if he'd hang out there while either one happened. Safe in the arms of Roscoe was where he needed to be.

"Stiles? What are you doing?" Scott's worry was vague and out of focus, easily waved away with a casual brush of his hand. "Did you double up on your meds again? You know what that does to you."

Once Scott would have known one of his panic attacks was happening almost before he did. Once they would have shared Scott's inhaler in a misguided attempt to help them both breathe when their bodies betrayed them. Once Scott would have stayed right with him and talked him through it, not turned away to do yet more pull-ups.

"Ha. Ha. Right. Meds. I gotta... later dude."

Maybe Scott tried to stop him, but he wouldn't have heard it over the rhythm pounding in his ears. Too fast - his heartbeat was definitely too fast and his heart was straining to go faster still. While his lungs begged to follow suit he did his best to breathe slow and even - it was only a panic attack. He could fucking wait until he got to the jeep to have it. There was no one chasing him, so he didn't need to run; he wasn't dying so he didn't need to get to the ER or call 911. He just needed to get to Roscoe, let himself shake apart at the seams for a while, then try to pull all the crazy stuffing back inside to get on with his day.

He closed the door behind him carefully - too carefully - and forced himself to take even, measured breaths. Fingers tap-tap-tapping in a row against his thumbs as an attempt to self-soothe, he ignored everything and just kept walking. Part of his brain was screeching, and his whole body was shaking enough to make him wobble, but he held on.

It was a trick he'd discovered a few months after his mom's death. If he tried to fight it, tried to stop the panic completely, it only made things worse. If he acknowledged it was _going to happen_ and just focused on not letting it happen in front of anyone, he could hold it off long enough to get some privacy. And privacy had been just what he needed anyway, with the grief still so fresh and his dad--

"One, two, three, four," Counting his steps out loud quieted his thoughts just enough that he could slam the door on that chain of ideas and memories. He could have a panic attack over one thing at a time, thanks. Extra issues at the party only made everything ten times worse. "Five, six, seven, eight, nine. One, two, three--"

Endings and beginnings and endings again, with just enough of a middle to keep things from bleeding together. He'd always liked the number nine.

Piling himself into Roscoe was a test of skill and will more than strength. Unlocking it required gripping his wrist with the opposite hand to stop his keys from shaking too damn hard. When he managed to unlock and open the door, part of him thought 'close enough' and wanted to melt into a puddle on the ground, but no. Too many eyes that way. People would ignore a teenager hanging out in a car. Some kid hyperventilating on the street wasn't so easy to overlook. So he forced his legs not to noodle-out just yet, biting down hard on his lower lip and embracing the pain to earn that last little bit of _fucking focus_ that he needed.

As soon as that door shut behind him, a sense of silence and stillness that bordered on peace swept over him.

Then the dam broke and his heart was back in his ears, harshly overlain with breaths that were more gasping sobs than anything else. He didn't have enough room to curl up into a ball, but he did hunch over the steering wheel and drew his feet up as high as he could on the seat for good measure. The faded scents of old leather and Cheeto dust filled his nose, while the textured grips of his steering wheel gave his fingers something to run over and over and over.

Thinking non-thoughts would be the best, but - _Gerard's mocking laugh, Erica's whimpers, Boyd's roar that trailed into a scream_ \- true blankness was beyond him. He just had to - _tears trailing mascara-black down a pale cheek, bruises blooming under cruel hands, the stench of blood and piss and fear_ \- just had to pull himself out - _pain that stabbed deep, throbbed with his heart, that sang through his bones_ \- of the loop of thoughts. He just had to remember that his brain wasn't his friend and that it was only a panic attack. He wasn't dying, it wouldn't last forever, and all there was to do was ride it out.

"It's... it's only a--" Getting numb lips to form the words was hard, his tongue clumsy and his breath still heaving, but he had to try. He had to try until it worked, and focus just on the words and what they meant. "It's only... a moment. It's... it's only a... a moment. It's only a moment."

The effects of the quiet chant weren't immediate, and a few times he had to stop talking when the panic surged and memories grappled with the things grounding him in the present. But eventually his muscles started to loosen up and his breath began to slow. His heartbeat was next, receding out of his ears and going back to it's usual inaudible, regular rhythm. Stiles started to reclaim that silent, peaceful feeling he could find only in Roscoe or buried under the covers in his own bed; he started to relax and believe that it was going to be okay.

"It was only a moment," he whispered to himself, eyes still closed as he rested against the steering wheel. "And now it's over."

That little phrase was a signal to his brain, and he went boneless in his seat. For a time he just sat there, still and breathing quietly, basking in the silence and the way he didn't feel like he was dying anymore. Under that relief he felt like shit, but that was a problem for future Stiles. Just then all that mattered was that the panic attack was over.

Eventually he sat up and rolled his shoulders back as he eased his feet down to the floor of his jeep. He was sore and tired, with a ferocious headache on the near horizon. It was time to get home and eat something healthy before he laid down for a little while. Or at least attempted to - he knew himself well enough to admit it was equally likely he'd end up pouring over his maps or falling down a research rabbit hole. Self care was not exactly something Stilinski men excelled at.

Heaving a sigh, he reached for the ignition and directed his attention to the street in front of him only to freeze a moment later. There was something on his hood that had absolutely not been there when he'd gone into Scott's house. And maybe the memories were fuzzy, but he didn't _think_ it had been there when he'd stumbled out to Roscoe to panic in peace.

That meant someone had put it there _during_ his little episode. Someone had gotten close - unacceptably, dangerously close - while he'd been freaking the fuck out. It almost certainly hadn't been a concerned citizen. A Good Samaritan-type would have knocked on the window or something and tried to 'help'. Scott would have done the same. Derek or Peter almost made sense, except they wouldn't have left him a present. There was just no one even marginally good that it could have come from, which probably meant Hunters.

Fuck, he was going to have to get Scott out here to sniff it from a safe distance to make sure it wasn't fucking coated in wolfsbane or some shit. Probably he should have the guy listen for any signs the gift was a bomb in disguise. What if he opened the door and Roscoe just blew up? And if that didn't happen, should he really go to Scott, or should he try his luck with the growly Alpha who tolerated him on good days? Would he have to go to _Deaton_?

All at once, the anger from before came rushing back. It was stupid of him, some part of his brain knew that, but it didn't stop him from slamming open the door and then stalking around to the front of his car. Like hell was he going to sit back and be afraid of boxes. He'd been through some fucking shit in the past year and he wasn't going to be cowed by this. Stiles refused to live in fear, and he'd show whoever it was that had left it that he wasn't someone to underestimate.

It was sort of a letdown when he saw what had actually been left. It was just a small box-looking thing wrapped in a deep red cloth that looked like it would be heavenly to the touch. There were no ticking sounds to be heard and nothing even vaguely menacing about the offering except for when it had appeared. Opening it out of spite was almost certainly a terrible idea, but no one had ever accused him of having any kind of self-preservation so he was going to go for it.

The silk fell open at barely a touch from his fingers and he refused to be charmed by that. Seeing a bold, black line peeking out from under the small box caught his curiosity, so he ignored the possible contents in favor of checking it out. Once the box was removed he was intrigued to find a symbol that sort of reminded him of the triskele. Instead of the gentle, elegant spirals, however, this one was spiky and angular, a triangle with three bold arms. He was going to have to go to Derek after all - the Alpha was probably his best bet to figuring out what the fuck it might mean.

On the lid of the little cardboard box _another_ symbol had been embossed in shiny pretend gold. It was vaguely familiar - a curvy cross that he was sure he should recognize - but just as puzzling as the other. There was a complete lack of ticking so the package probably wasn't a bomb, but his heart was still pounding in his chest as he nudged the top off.

The whole box fell from nerveless fingers when he realized what he was actually looking at.

A golden curl of hair the exact shade of Erica's almost fluttered away in the wind; the tiny black rubber band securing it kept that from happening. The tiny ring of tarnished fake gold was one that Gerard had ridiculed Boyd for wearing around his neck. Stiles had never had the chance to hear that story, but from the devastation on Boyd's face it was an important piece of history. He had no idea who belonged to the second lock of hair - it was a light brown that he didn't recognize. That didn't matter though, not when the message was so clear. Someone had Erica, Boyd and a third, unnamed person who was probably also a werewolf.

With a message like this his friends were probably _alive_, and relief made his limbs noodle again. He didn't quite collapse against Roscoe's hood but it was close. Taking a few deep breaths was crucial to his continued survival. There was nothing for it but to close his eyes and suck in oxygen like he'd been drowning. His hands grasped at the 'tokens' he'd been sent and pulled them close to his chest so they couldn't be torn away as he worked to regain some kind of equilibrium. Crawling into Roscoe again to do it just wasn't going to happen - he hoped like hell nobody would call the Sheriff or come to ask him if he was okay.

It was as he fingered the box and the priceless treasures inside that he felt a thin piece of _something_ begin to lift under one nail. When he took a closer look he realized that whoever had put the package together has included a note tucked inside the top of the little box. His hands shook a little as he started to pull it loose until he forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. If he ripped the fragile paper he was going to hate himself for the rest of forever for ruining a clue. He needed to be _careful_ dammit.

The script on the note was an elegant scrawl, large letters that seemed to dance across the folded paper. It almost looked like it might have been written by a fountain pen or some bespoke shit like that. The whole delivery was chock-full of that vibe - it was personal, tailored to catch his attention. As he read what the note actually said, he was struck by the thought that the whole thing was almost sweet. Creepy to the extreme, but also... sweet in a weird, fucked up way.

_Stiles,_

_I find myself in the rare position of needing to ask for forgiveness; for your forgiveness specifically. I came to Beacon Hills with certain biases and preconceived notions. When a cursory assessment of the situation here seemed to prove those true, I acted without looking deeper and without thought as to how it would look to outsiders. To be quite frank with you I am as unused to considering such opinions as I am unused to apologizing. You certainly are something special, Stiles, to have earned both things from me._

_Your friends Erica and Boyd are alive and well, though currently regaining some of their strength. I hasten to add that I did not harm them as I fear you would come after me if you thought that was the case. During their stay with my pack they were fed and mostly left to their own devices, albeit in a setting chosen entirely by myself for a specific purpose. They were being held, yes, but they were not tortured. I wish now that I had spoken to them more when my pack and I first took them as this matter may have been concluded earlier and with less grief caused._

_I knew Talia Hale when I was a younger and far more idealistic man. I admired her even when I didn't agree with her, and rumors of how her family members have been treating her legacy left me rather intemperate. Now I realize that I should have spoken with your friends and our other guest before acting on those feelings. Again I promise you that they have not been harmed - Erica cut off a curl with her own two hands, and it was Boyd's suggestion to send the ring to you. They miss you and send their thanks for continuing the search for so long. After some discussion we agreed that contacting their families at this juncture would be premature and more upsetting than helpful. I know it's asking a lot of you and all of it on faith, but please don't reach out to either the Reyes or Boyd families yourself. They can't return home just yet, and we all want to avoid rubbing salt in that wound._

_I'm fairly certain you're a skeptical and curious person, so let me explain that decision so you're more likely to agree. They need some time to learn how to be werewolves, Stiles. Their education up to this point has been lacking to a degree that's appalling. Maybe this is completely Derek Hale's fault, maybe it was purely the result of circumstance; I hope for Derek's sake that it is either the latter or some combination of both factors. While I believe Erica and Boyd deserve much - not the least of which is an apology for their first few months as werewolves - I'm not certain that their Alpha deserves the same consideration._

_I hope you will be able to help me decide that in the future. Erica and Boyd speak highly of you and what I've seen for myself is just as impressive. You have a wolf's loyalty, something that has so often been in short supply. I look forward to formally making your acquaintance in the future when I return your friends to you, safe and sound with a much better grasp of what it means to live with a wolf in your bones._

_And though I run the risk of sounding like a stalker - I'll be watching over you, Stiles._

_The Demon Wolf_

With a note like that... he really wasn't sure if he was flattered or fucked. Both? Both was good, or at least more likely. He guessed it really didn't matter though. Much more important was deciding how much 'faith' he wanted to put in this 'Demon Wolf' and whether or not to let Derek know that his betas were supposedly safe. Maybe he should at least warn the guy - the bit about the testy Alpha was ominous. As much as the asshole frustrated him, Derek really had gone through enough to last two or three lifetimes. He didn't need some new form of bullshit to come for him now that the Argent drama was finally over. Dude deserved a chance to relax for a little while. If he couldn't have that, he at least deserved to know which corner the next round of shit was likely to come from.

It was something to think about. There was no way he could handle a visit to the grumpy douche in his current condition, so he had some time to figure out how he wanted to handle it. Carefully tucking everything back into his little mystery box, Stiles ran his finger over the gold embossing after he'd closed it. He'd have research that and the symbol printed on the silk wrapping - later. After he took something for his head, ate a little something, and took a nap.

Maybe it was because he felt so tired and drained, but he kind of believed what the note said. He could ease up a little, take just enough time to take care of himself. Once he didn't feel quite so much like shit he would put his nose back to the grindstone. If his mysterious watcher thought he was going to sit around and twiddle his thumbs than the Demon Wolf was a moron as well as a stalker. He wasn't going to wait until the mysterious package giver was ready for him to meet Erica and Boyd - fuck that. Soon as the leftover shakes were out of his system he'd get on deciphering the curious symbols he was half-sure had been left as tantalizing clues.

He was finally going to crack this case wide open and find his friends. Even if the letter had been a pretty lie, he was sure there was enough in it and the tokens that had been left in it for him to sink his teeth into. For all the Demon Wolf thought he had a wolf's loyalty, it was the snapping turtle in him that wouldn't allow him to just let it go the way Scott wanted him to. Stilinski men never let _anything_ go, weren't capable of walking away from any fight they started.

Piling himself into Roscoe was easier this time around, even if his fingers were still shaking. _Fuck_ the adrenaline dump that came with a panic attack almost more than the attacks themselves. Once he'd tucked the package securely into his glovebox where none of the priceless items inside could get lost, it took a few breaths before he was ready to start the ignition. Strength gathered, he headed for home where his bed and a lengthy research session awaited him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably super under-edited, but I wanted to get this up before I take the 'morning nap' that usually consumes my day. Stay at home orders are hell on the sleeping schedule. XD
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I'd love comments if you feel moved to leave one! <3

He sort of hated the loft. No, not sort of - he _fucking hated_ the loft. Derek was kind of a tool, but he still deserved nice things. Instead the idiot kept punishing himself with his choice of living spaces. Sure, it was nice that he wasn't sleeping in the burned out husk of his old family home, but this place wasn't that much of an improvement. The space was way too big, in his humble opinion. How the fuck were Derek and his two remaining betas supposed to fill it with scent? That was assuming Peter even lived there, which he really wasn't sure of.

Not only was it a great big scent-sucking void, it was also nearly empty of comfy furniture. What was there was stark and ultra-modern, so cold it almost gave him frostbite just looking at it. Derek needed huge, overstuffed armchairs to hunker down in while he read. Isaac should have a couch that was inviting and soft, not something that seemed like a Lovecraftian nightmare. The pair of them just... they deserved a _home_, and it sort of pissed him off that Derek could give that to both of them but wouldn't.

One of these days he was going to steal the guy's credit card and do it himself.

Maybe he could annoy Derek enough on this visit that he could get away with just that. Sourwolf was used to him poking and puttering around after Derek stormed out of the room in a fit of pique. This time he'd just riffle through things with a _purpose_ after Derek refused to give him the information he was asking for.

"Hello sweetheart," Peter crooned _directly into his ear_. The warm air made him shiver with what he'd forever pretend was disgust. Fear had his heart pounding immediately, but after his initial jump he refused to pull away further. He wasn't going to give the bastard the satisfaction. Unfortunately, that meant when the man chuckled it was still pressed against his ear. "What's a boy like you doing in a place like this?"

"Hello to you too, Uncle Bad Touch." He used his shoulder to push Peter away - it pissed him off to know the werewolf only moved because he wanted to. "Shouldn't you be off slaughtering your enemies somewhere?"

"I've run out, sadly. No more slaughter for me until I make some more." Because he was fucked up in all kinds of ways, the tease from Peter actually had him feeling pretty pleased with himself. Apparently he wasn't an enemy, so Derek could suck it up and let them start spending time in the same room. Actually--

"Hey, this is way better. Derek would just growl and tell me to stay out of it." As he spoke he fished the red silk out of his backpack, hope springing eternal in his chest. "Tell me what this means."

Because he was a big spoilsport, Peter caught his wrist before he could smoosh the silk against his face. The smug smirk that was usually the wolf's permanent expression slowly slipped away, replaced by thinned lips and a furrowed brow.

"Where did you get this?"

"I found it." Peter's eyes narrowed, but it wasn't even really a lie so he was pretty sure his heart hadn't tripped. "And anyway that's not any of your business. Just tell me what the symbol means."

"Why ever would I know something like that?"

"Are you saying you don't?"

"Where did you find it Stiles?"

"Around."

"Ah. I see. Unfortunately I'm not able to--"

"I may not have super-senses, but I can still tell you're lying."

"I've no idea what you mean. Besides - if you just found this... lying around... it must not be that important. Why should it mean anything?"

"So you're going to be an ass about this then."

"Darling, if you'd just tell me where you found it I'm sure I could dig something up." Annoyed and fully aware that they were at an impasse, he watched the werewolf for long moments, unwilling to break their little stalemate. Eventually Peter rolled his eyes before he went to turn away. Before he could stop himself Stiles lunged forward and grabbed hold of his arm; Peter immediately turned back with that damnable smirk back in place. "Yes?"

"... I found it on my jeep, alright?"

"I can't help people who lie to me, Stiles. It hurts my feelings too much."

"I'm not lying!"

"You're not telling me the whole truth either. That's even more hurtful." Peter attempted to give him a soulful look complete with a hand over his heart. Stiles wasn't buying it. "I may have to weep bitter tears into my pillow later."

"You are so full of shit." While that was true, he also knew that Peter wasn't going to budge. He could figure the symbol out... eventually. But he was so damn close, and fuck if he was going to wait for the mysterious Demon Wolf to deign to let him in on what was going on. He wanted to surprise the bastard and then give Erica and Boyd the tightest hugs in history before he fed them and tucked them into their own beds where they should have been all along. "Look. I got it with a note. Whoever left it said they know where Erica and Boyd are - I'm just trying to find my friends, dude."

"Don't call me dude." After a long-suffering sigh that was just _insulting_ given that he was a fucking _delight_, Peter finally plucked the silk from his fingers. "I have a theory. Give me a day to run it down, hm? I'll call on you tomorrow."

"I'm not an 18th century maiden looking for a husband."

"A shame. I'd happily accept your dowry."

"And I'd happily bring another DIY Molotov to the honeymoon."

Peter - to his utter surprise - began to _laugh_. Not the humorless chuckles that were the usual, and not a dry, sarcastic laugh either. It was a real laugh, one where the werewolf threw his head back and put one hand on Stiles' shoulder to steady himself. He couldn't help but smile and think that Peter really should laugh like that more often.

"I do wish my dear nephew wasn't so insistent that I leave you alone. We could have such fun together - you're the clever one after all. And I _like_ clever." Peter winked, waved the scrap of silk like it was a handkerchief and then sauntered off. He left Stiles gaping after him, not sure if he was offended by Derek's meddling or if he should beg the Alpha to never, ever stop meddling ever because he really wasn't sure if he wanted to be anywhere near Peter's idea of fun.

He was pretty sure the world wasn't ready for him and Peter to be on the same team.

Leaving and going home to shower would have to stay a happy fantasy. Derek would have heard his jeep - apparently it had a very distinctive sound - and if he headed off without visiting there would be questions. Questions he couldn't answer, especially not when one of the answers was that he _was trusting Peter Hale_ to help him out.

So he took a breath and squared his shoulders, because it was always best to be ready for a confrontation when it came to Derek. If he could get out of this without being shoved against a wall he'd consider it a victory. He was pretty sure that even breathing in the shitty elevator put him at risk of contracting Tetanus, shot or no, so he always tried very hard not to breathe until the doors opened. Sometimes he could make it all the way up, but usually he ran out of steam early and spent the rest of the ride trying to catch his breath.

Isaac threw open the door while he was still working on that. The werewolf rolled his eyes and gave him a _look_ \- some people had gotten very sassy since powering up. "What are you doing here this time?"

Excuse, excuse, he needed an excuse....

"This place is un-fucking-liveable, that's why I'm here. You need _furniture_ Isaac. You and Derek both should have nice comfy beds and places to sit that aren't that torture device or the floor where countless tragedies have no doubt taken place. I'm pretty sure the stain in the kitchen is blood--"

"Stiles. We would smell if it was blood. It isn't."

"Still. At the very least I'm not leaving here until Derek agrees to get a rug to cover it up. That's the bare minimum. I'm sort of hoping for maybe a better couch and a really cozy armchair, but I probably shouldn't press my luck."

Suddenly there was Derek, looming over Isaac's shoulder like the creeper he was at heart. Maybe he thought he'd gotten away with haunting the school during the day to make sure his betas were safe, but Stiles had seen him every time. A creeping, lurky worry-wolf, that's all Derek was.

"You don't even live here. Why do you care?" Derek's eyebrows suggested that him caring made the wolf very grumpy, but he ignored that. Those eyebrows, verbose as they were, lied. To get anywhere with Derek you had to be willing to look past them to the sadly incompetent teddy bear within.

"Look, Sourwolf, it's like this--"

"Don't _call_ me that." From Peter that would have been an order. Derek just sort of whined it at him, which was adorable but ineffective.

"I know we don't always agree--"

"We never agree."

"And I know I have a bad habit of ignoring your suggestions to follow alternative plans that are really not as good--"

"Scott's plans are fine," Isaac interrupted, looking stubborn before he rethought. "Sometimes."

"The adults are talking right now. Don't you have some scarves to organize? Anyway, as I was saying. We've had our little differences in the past, but we've also been through some shit. Did he tell you he almost made me cut his arm off once?" Isaac looked appropriately grossed out and interested. He couldn't believe he'd never told that story! Once Derek got a fucking table he'd come over for dinner and spin yarns of yesteryear for the younger wolf. "Ah, the days of my youth. Maybe you don't know this Derek, but when you go through shit like that with people you sort of develop an interest in their well being. And don't even try to pretend you don't care at least a little about mine, because I see through those scary eyebrows of yours mister."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"We might not be besties, but we're still danger buddies and danger buddies don't let each other live like this. You deserve nice things, Derek. So does Isaac. So get a goddamn rug and something soft to sit on and I'll stay out of your hair for like a week."

"What happens after a week?"

"Then I annoy you into a table, some chairs, and getting that fucking elevator redone because it's a nightmare. I hate it, you hate it, Isaac hates it, Peter probably hates it, so... fix it. Alpha."

The tacked-on honorific was a total afterthought, but the change it made in Derek was both noticeable and immediate. The wolf stood a little taller and the tension seemed to drain out of his shoulders all at once. When they squared again the move looked confident instead of defensive - a fucking miracle in and of itself, because Derek was _always_ defensive about _everything_. That tiny little furrow that lived between his scary eyebrows had even smoothed a little bit. It all left Sourwolf looking more mature, more like a leader, and Stiles was almost willing to believe he could do this.

All that and he wasn't even sure he'd _meant_ it. Maybe if the Demon Wolf turned out not to be a crisis in the making, and maybe if the town could stay calm for five fucking minutes, maybe... maybe he could mean it. Maybe Derek would have a chance to grow into the kind of Alpha that he'd be willing to follow instead of mother hen.

It was a pretty dream, one that would probably quickly turn to shit.

"I do hate the elevator," Isaac ventured quietly after a long, long, loooooong silence. The younger wolf had hunched in on himself, still expecting violence whenever he did something he perceived as crossing the line. Derek looked lost for a moment, but after some aggressive eyeball action from Stiles he gently settled his hand on Isaac's shoulder and squeezed.

"Do you..." Derek paused, brow furrowing again as his eyebrows tried to be angry enough to hide the fact that he cared. "I never asked. If you..." Pinocchio was trying to become a real boy in front of his eyes and it was fucking _painful_ to watch. "We can get a rug. Furniture... different furniture. If you want."

"It's your house." That scowl got deeper, but the rest of Derek's body was completely still. Maybe he sensed that any sudden movements would have Isaac ducking for cover.

"You live here too. Stiles doesn't, which is why he isn't allowed to have an opinion--"

"Again, I cite danger buddy protocol."

"That's not a thing Stiles." There was another long pause where Derek studied his most faithful beta, searching his expression. Eventually he sighed and closed his eyes, probably asking someone somewhere for strength. "You should come to help me pick it out. Not you," he added swiftly when Stiles opened his mouth to accept the invitation. Then his lips twisted in what was maybe supposed to be a teasing but genuine smile; it happened so rarely that he really wasn't sure. Most of Derek's 'smiles' were firmly in the 'I am mocking you' or 'I am actually weeping inside' categories. "You can come and help with the elevator though."

"Asshole. Whatever - my work here is done. Next time I come over there had better be a rug on that stain because I am still about 98% sure it's blood, and don't even try to give me that 'I can smell everything because I'm a werewolf' bullshit. That stain is fucking ancient and smells eventually fade. If you get rid of that ugly, uncomfortable, piece of shit couch and have actual comfy furniture so you guys can nest or den or whatever the fuck werewolves do then I'll... I'll bake you guys something. Isaac, text me picture proof and what baked goods you want, and I'll bring 'em. Deal? Deal. Have fun shopping, make sure you _sit on all the couches_, don't just go for something that looks pretty. Function over form. Maybe some throw pillows if you're feeling really adventurous."

"Goodbye Stiles."

"Bye Sourwolf, later Isaac." To his delight and bewilderment, as he headed for the elevator he could hear Derek telling Isaac that he just needed a minute to grab his wallet and keys. They were really going to go and maybe start living like actual people and it was really just the fucking best. If they did it - if they really did it - he was going to bake them _all the things_. So many things.

Since he didn't mean it, calling Derek 'Alpha' too often was probably not the best idea in the world. But maybe a judicious use of it here and there, just enough to remind Derek that he had other people to consider... maybe that was alright. Wouldn't make him a complete asshole, at least. He could live with being a partial asshole.

He climbed back into Roscoe feeling extremely accomplished. Peter was chasing down his hunch, and he was pretty sure the wolf would actually follow through on this. Not only was he getting what he really wanted out of the visit, he'd also accomplished his secondary goal and he hadn't even had to resort to theft and credit fraud. He was absolutely nailing his role as Derek's danger buddy.

Now he just had to worry about that curvy cross symbol on the box. Soon he'd have all the pieces, and he could find the Demon Wolf and give him a piece of his mind. Whatever the fuck those 'preconceived notions' had been they didn't justify kidnapping teenagers, especially not ones that had just gotten free of a previous kidnap-and-torture session. It was fucking unacceptable, that's what it was, especially when the teens in question were _his_ people.

His bat might not have anything on one of Mr. Argent's guns or electric batons, but he was pretty fucking sure that if he aimed it right he could absolutely shatter a werewolf's kneecap. That ought to get his point across if all else failed.

~.~.~

"Are you going out?" He paused, hand on the doorknob, and tried not to sigh. A few months ago his dad wouldn't have even commented - it was only 9 at night and it was summer, so it wasn't a big deal. But his old man wasn't dumb. He knew Stiles had been lying to him, and there'd been that thing where he'd _technically_ abducted Jackson, and the shit that had gone down at the station, and he wasn't really sure if his dad had ever bought the excuse that the opposing lacrosse team had been the ones to beat the shit out of him. So now his dad _asked_. It would have been nice to have that four years ago. Now it was just cramping his style.

"Yeah. The bookstore has extended hours today - some new book is coming out at midnight or something. Got the urge to browse and maybe get some new reading material. You want a new biography while I'm out?"

"... do you really need to go? Now? You couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"Need to? No. But I meant to go earlier and lost track of time. Since I can still go now I want to and I don't have anything going on tomorrow, soooo... also, offer of a book has been officially rescinded." When he looked over his shoulder he saw that while his dad was frowning he hadn't clenched his jaw. So this wasn't an _objection_ exactly. Maybe... "I mean. If that's okay?"

His dad's shoulders relaxed a little and his expression evened out. Good - he'd just wanted to be asked. He was going to have to get used to trying to get permission for shit when it wouldn't shoot his plans all to hell. "Try to be home by midnight, alright kiddo?"

"Can do, daddio. Do you want a book?"

"I want a donut."

"Frosting or filled? Both is not on the table, so don't even try old man."

"Filled then. Have fun."

"Later."

Instead of heading right to the bookstore he stopped off to get some coffee to take with him and grab a donut for his dad. Man was lucky he was feeling so guilty about all the lying or he'd be getting nothing but a plain glazed one. His dad liked jelly filling though, and he had been following his diet pretty closely, so a cheat night wouldn't kill him. For himself he got a large coffee with just a hint of cream - he knew enough of the employees at the bookstore that he shouldn't have a problem bringing it into the store.

Sure enough, while he got a couple 'hey's, nobody batted an eye at the coffee cup that lived near his mouth as he browsed. He took a quick tour of the comic book section and noted a few titles he wanted to grab if he didn't spend too much elsewhere. Summer was hard on his disposable income - nobody was buying papers this time of year. His savings were decently padded in anticipation of college, but he wouldn't have any extra money coming in until about mid-September. Comic books could wait, but the half-hidden section toward the back of the store couldn't.

His experience with Mountain Ash was fascinating now that he could look back on it. In the moment it had mostly been terrifying, of course. But in between searches for Boyd and Erica he had started to look for answers. It wasn't that he didn't trust Deaton - which he didn't, not completely - but he didn't want to completely depend on _anyone_. When shit went really bad again he wanted his own resources, his own solutions, and as solid an understanding as he could manage about the supernatural.

Maybe if Peter's info on the symbol panned out he could bribe the wolf into sharing his sources. He was doing his best to build some up, but it was hard; he didn't exactly know where to start. Stumbling on the tiny section in the bookstore had been incredibly lucky and maybe not something that happened often. His first purchase had been handled by the owner, who'd looked him over with extreme skepticism and advised him to 'be careful' before actually selling him the book.

It was worth it though - the slim volume gave a pretty comprehensive overview of plants and their uses in the realm of the supernatural. Herbs, trees, flowers... it was all there, including Mountain Ash. What he'd read on that had tracked with what Deaton had told him, so it seemed like most of if was legit. Once he had his friends back he was planning on starting a little garden of useful plants. If he was feeling particularly ambitious he might try and trick Derek and the pack into building him a little greenhouse in his backyard. He could sell it to his dad by including a few vegetables and insisting they were healthier than store bought ones.

But he'd finally absorbed everything he was likely to from that book and had filled almost half of a notebook with his rambling notes on it. It was time to see if he could look in that same little section and see if it looked like anything else had legit information in it. There wasn't a single other patron who'd even glanced at the out of the way section - Stiles wondered if there was some sore of Notice Me Not spell like in Harry Potter or something. Maybe he was a wizard and that's why he had actually noticed it.

He'd stopped hoping for a Hogwarts letter after his mom died. It was... nice to almost believe in magic again.

"Watch it, grandpa."

"I would apologize, but I do believe that you ran into me." He _knew_ that voice, cultured and a little rough with an accent that made part of him shiver. What the hell was Deucalion doing there?

"Oh, is that what you think? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you ran into me." The other voice was unknown but aggressive, and he sort of felt obliged to check in and see just what the hell was going on. Deucalion could probably handle himself. Probably. Maybe? Better safe than sorry... plus he was nosy as all hell. "You owe me an apology."

"I owe you nothing."

"What did you say to me?" When he rounded the corner of a bookshelf, he saw Deucalion being hassled by a kid his dad would definitely call a punk and had taken into custody a few times - Richards, he was pretty sure. K-something Richards, who was supposed to have graduated in June, but Stiles wasn't sure he'd had the grades to actually manage that. With the little punk were three other, younger teens snickering into their hands. One of them was started to edge towards Deucalion's cane, and fuck that. "Do you have any idea--"

"Take a walk, Richards." Every head turned his way including Deucalion's. The older man was wearing sunglasses again, but Stiles was still pretty sure that he was 'looking' at the air above his head. Great honing senses that were only a little bit off. That was interesting and something he should remember.

"Stilinski." It wasn't respect, but caution that had Richards remembering his name. Maybe there was just a hint of worry or fear there too. After all, unless he straight up murdered somebody or robbed a place with a gun in broad daylight Stiles had the Sheriff's Department on his side. "This doesn't have anything to do with you."

"I'm a concerned citizen. Are those your books on the floor Deucalion? Because I'm sure Richards and his friends wouldn't mind picking them up for you."

"Ah. They are indeed - I was holding them for my friend. I can get them--"

"You could, but since I'm pretty sure Richards here only bumped into you because he thought it would be funny..." He purposefully trailed off and was gratified to see the teen in question gulp. "And aren't you on probation? Not a good decision, Richards. Help the man pick up his books and I won't feel the need to let the Sheriff know about your little lapse in judgement." A lie - he was totally telling his dad that the little shit could do with some supervision that was a little more up close and personal.

"You a narc, Stilinski?"

"Concerned citizen," he corrected again. Maybe his voice was soft but he had put on his sharpest grin. The three kids with Richards had already melted away into the store, leaving the punk behind to clean up his own mess. "So. What's it gonna be?"

There was a long moment where Richards tried to win a stare-down. It was kind of funny and almost adorable, but he was careful to keep his smirk under control. Knowing how hard and how far to push to get results without an accompanying black eye was a delicate balancing act, one he'd been perfecting since he was eight. Finally Richards cracked and swore under his breath before he dropped to the floor and hastily grabbed the fallen books. Stiles didn't like the way he shoved them at Deucalion, or the way he fled almost before the older man had a firm grip on them, but whatever. He'd mostly gotten what he wanted and the situation was diffused, so he'd take it.

"I would have been perfectly fine without your interference." The protest didn't seem to be just for the sake of it. Deucalion's jaw was tight and he was strangling his cane with a grip that looked almost painful. Fuck. He'd done the thing where he'd rushed in to a rescue that wasn't actually required. Maybe he was getting too used to being a hero.

"I know." It helped that he believed that. Something about the man had him absolutely convinced that he could have handled himself if he had needed to. "But this was faster. Now you can get back to... browsing?" He felt himself fumble the word and couldn't help but blush. Thank fuck Deucalion couldn't see it. "Do they have many books that are written in braille here?" The place was pretty dinky - their selection was kind of shit a lot of the time. Hell, the 'event' was probably mostly an excuse to get people to linger after normal hours and get suckered into the 'sales'.

For the next few heartbeats Stiles was sure he wouldn't get a reply. Deucalion was pissed that he'd stepped in and was about to storm off, he was pretty fucking sure of it. Maybe he should have apologized? Except he wouldn't really mean it because running Richards off _had_ been faster and prevented anyone calling the Sheriff's office, because then his dad might have been called in and his night would have been ruined. And people liked apologies even if they weren't sincere, so yeah. He should maybe apologize.

Before he could completely talk himself into do just that, he watched Deucalion's face soften. "I... no. They don't have any. Usually I have to have a store order books in or get my reading material online." Stiles looked at the small pile of books in Deucalion's free arm, wondering. Even without sight the move must have been obvious, because the other man sighed. "My friend Ennis dragged me along. He has two... I suppose you could call them wards. They'll be joining you once school starts up again, I believe. I think they're around your age. Ethan is a fan of the author of... whatever book it is we're here to celebrate. I'm here for moral support and to remind Ennis he doesn't actually have to buy everything the twins ask him for."

"Moral support then. I get it."

"Are you a fan, Stiles?"

"Nope. I've never heard of Sara Whosit before. Is your friend's, uh. Ward? That word fell out of use about a hundred years ago I'm pretty sure. Like, I've never heard anyone else use it ever, and I'm now working on a theory where you're a time travel, just FYI. Though why you'd come to _Beacon Hills_ of all places and _now_ of all times might be the thing that has my theory dead in the water. But no. I'm not here for the book that's being pimped unless your friend's ward has good taste in books and it's either a standalone or the first in a new series. Should I trust this Ethan fellow's taste?"

Deucalion's smile turned dangerous, which had him swallowing hard. Fuck, his libido was all kinds of messed up. Pretty soon he wasn't going to be able to get hard unless something was scaring him at least a little. Why the question elicited that response was another thing to wonder about. Once he had Erica and Boyd back, once he knew if the Demon Wolf was a threat or not, he was going to have to ponder the mystery that was Deucalion. Something was absolutely hinky there.

"Ethan's taste is _impeccable_ in many things," Deucalion purred, making him shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. He was absolutely not going to be turned on. Nope. Not a chance. Though it would help if the man's nostrils could stop flaring like he could _smell_ the way he was--

Fuck. Holy fucking shitballs. Could Deucalion be a werewolf? If not a werewolf another thing? Was the dude _actually scenting him_?!

If he was, the dude was a good actor, because he gave no outward sign that he had noticed the way Stiles was now freaking the fuck out. Surely if Deucalion could hear the way his heart was racing or smell the bit of fear that had entered his scent there would have been _some_ kind of reaction. Not the same smirk that had been there before and bland equanimity besides. So either the guy was very good at being something other or Stiles was letting his very healthy paranoia get the better of him.

"He doesn't let himself be swayed by the opinions of others. Ethan prefers to make his own way... as long as Aiden can tag along with him, of course." Deucalion had to be just a guy. Otherwise how could they still just... be having a conversation? In his experience, unknown and possibly hostile werewolves didn't take the time to chat with random bystanders about their friend's wards or whatever the fuck they were talking about. Shit. He was... he was probably okay? Almost certainly okay.

"Well that's... probably good. 'Cause it's a small school, you know? Most of us have known each other forever, and the ones who have come in partway through are... uh." Fuck. He really should try and get to know Greenburg. Someday. When his life didn't include things like some prick who referred to themselves as the Demon Wolf. "It's hard. So it's good that they can. You know. Forge their own way."

"Indeed. And since we're all here together..." Deucalion trailed off suggestively, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"Sure. Introduce away. Maybe we can even arrange a playdate closer to the start of the year."

"Stiles, I have to ask for your forgiveness." Suddenly the man looked embarrassingly earnest. Stiles was pretty sure that if he didn't have his cane in one hand and books in the other he would have reached out and grabbed his elbow. "I've been unforgivably rude. Last time we met you were looking for your friends, and I didn't even ask about them before I tried to foist new ones off on you. Have you heard anything new? I've been thinking about you and hoping you'd made progress, and now I've spent the last five minutes with you and hadn't mentioned them once. I'm sorry, Stiles."

"You... you _remembered_." Fuck, his voice sounded strangled and shit, and if the guy was a werewolf or something else than he was sending up all kinds of flares that could be used to hurt him later. He was showing off his weaknesses splendidly. Fuck fuck fuck. "I mean. Uh. Nobody really... asks about them anymore. They don't want to get me started, you know? I've got a couple friends who just sort of... pretend they can't hear me whenever I bring them up." Derek and Isaac were such assholes... but he _had_ gotten a picture of Derek's new living room and it was fucking awesome even by his standards, so maybe the Alpha wasn't totally hopeless. "My best friend just keeps saying we should wait to see if they show up to school. So. Uh. Thanks for... you know. Remembering at all. We met like, a week ago? Totally random and you didn't know we'd bump into each other, so. Thanks. For asking and remembering."

"Of course, Stiles." There was concern in Deucalion's voice, and again the man acted like he might like to reach out if he could. "It must be hard, to be surrounded by people that aren't taking the disappearance of your friends seriously."

"Derek takes it seriously," he interrupted without thinking about it. "He's just worried I'll get hurt if I go chasing after them. That's why he pretends I've been struck temporarily mute whenever I bring them up. And Isaac thinks of him as a big brother, so he just... follows Derek's lead. So it's... it's fine." Sort of. Not really, because he and Derek were fucking danger buddies whether the Alpha wanted to acknowledge it or not. So it hurt to be sent off to play while the grownups did the hard work, but he could live with it because he knew Derek was looking.

It was Scott's attitude that actually pissed him off.

"I see." He doubted it, but at least Deucalion was listening. "Still, it sounds difficult. I hope if there's anything I can do to help--" Suddenly a mountain loomed over Deucalion's shoulder, and Stiles couldn't help but gape. Apparently the man he knew sensed the new guy's approach, because he immediately stopped talking and sighed softly. "Ennis. We've talked about this."

"I'm standing." Fuck, even the guy's voice sounded like boulders smashing into each other, and no. No no no. No fear boner! He was totally and definitely not going to pop one, because that would be ridiculous. "Standing, not looming. I don't loom." And Derek Hale didn't lurk. Fuck. "Who's your friend?" The guy who was apparently Ennis smiled at him and it was sort of terrifying. He had a feeling Ennis was _always_ terrifying even when he tried very hard not to be.

"This is Stiles. I mentioned that I met him at the diner, remember? The one who goes to the same school that Ethan and Aiden enrolled in."

"Right!" Ennis melted a little, and suddenly he was only kind of scary. "Are you a junior then? They won't say anything but I think they're both a little nervous."

"Stiles, be a dear and tell me how many bags Ennis is currently toting to help ease their nerves." Deucalion was clearly teasing, and Ennis huffed playfully but also shifted so one arm was hidden behind his back. He recognized the move from the times his dad tried to sneak bacon and was abso-fucking-lutely _not_ getting in the middle of that. He refused to be the Mrs. Shandley of the situation, because that old bad was always butting in and trying to get him to go easy on his old man.

"Sooo not my business," he declared instead, holding up his hands. Ennis grinned at him and he winked back, because he fucking _knew_ the giant probably had a shit-ton of books hidden behind his form. "Nice to meet you though. Deucalion tells me you have wards, like some kind of Charles Dickens character."

"Deuc likes to play at being fancy." They both ignored the soft 'hey' of protest the comment received, staying focused on each other. "I'm a bit more down to earth. I'll probably end up adopting them, eventually. Gotta jump through the hoops first."

"And get your balls back from Kali," Deucalion added smoothly, either trying to regain the spotlight or to show that he could be as crude and down to earth as the rest of them. "Good luck."

"Aww, come on. She's warming up. And anyway we aren't even together, really." Another nest of vipers that he was avoiding at all costs. "She doesn't have anymore say than you do, what with us all living in the same house."

"Must be a big house. You get one of the snooty ones up near the lake?"

"Yeah." The man sounded downright glum about living in the richest, fanciest neighborhood Beacon Hills proper could boast. Both Lydia and Jackson's families had homes there. "Wasn't anything big enough that wasn't so... fancy."

"There is nothing wrong with fancy," Deucalion weighed in, a verbal eye-roll clear in his tone. "And it's a lovely home with enough space for all of us. I practically have my own apartment," he added to Stiles who tried to be properly impressed. "I have a feeling that will be a blessing once Aiden settles in and starts having friends over."

"Is he the party animal of the family?"

"Something like that."

"Speaking of, where are they? I was thinking we should perhaps put the things you've already purchased in the car and then go get something to eat to save your wallet some hardship. We still have a lot of time before midnight."

"Hmmm. Might be a good idea. Let me run herd on the boys and see what they think." Ennis ambled off with people scurrying to get out of his way. Seemed like a decent guy, but holy fuck. He could probably break _Scott_ if he wanted to badly enough and really tried. He'd be able to snap Stiles into toothpicks without expending any effort at all. It would be like sneezing to the man.

"He dotes on them. It's sweet, but not something I'm used to experiencing. The twins have been a wonderful addition." He answered Deucalion with a soft, thoughtful 'hmm' and tried to ignore the charming smile now on the man's face. "All that aside, I'm sorry he interrupted our conversation. I was offering my assistance, if you find that you need a friendly ear or shoulder - it sounds like you might need that, Stiles."

"Uh. I mean... everyone does?"

"Yes, but I'm worried about you in particular. It doesn't sound as if other people in your life are being supportive." Responding to that was just a catastrophe waiting to happen, and some part of him was still pretty fucking sure that Deucalion might be an enemy wolf looking to horn in on Derek's territory. He was spared the awkwardness that might have followed when Ennis came back, two guys who had to be the twins trailing behind him.

"Boys, this is Stiles. Stiles, this is Aiden and Ethan." They looked really, really similar, but there were some small differences that he'd be able to use. At just a glance Ethan seemed softer and more serious, while Aiden had an edge of danger that had Stiles send little warning of 'NO' to his libido.

"Nice to meet you," Ethan said without offering anything else apart from a nod. Aiden didn't even give him that much, just rolled his eyes and reached out for Deucalion's books. The older man let them go without a fight, a small smile on his lips. Then Aiden was gone, probably to take care of buying or putting back the things Deucalion had been in charge of. Fuck, it was like Derek version 2.0. He was not ready for that. "Are you... coming with us?"

He didn't know if Ethan was hoping he'd say 'no' or 'yes', but at the end of the day that didn't matter. Not when his dad needed him to _ask_ at the moment. Sure he could call his old man and get permission, but he wouldn't be surprised if his dad showed up partway through the outing just to check in on him. They didn't need to test the boundaries of trust just yet. Besides, Stiles still hadn't gotten his books.

"Maybe another time. I wanna grab a few things before it gets any crazier in here and I've got a treat waiting for my dad in the jeep. Thanks for the invite though."

Ethan chose to answer with a nod, then exchanged a look with Ennis that had both of them drifting away. It was almost the same as the choreographed moves that happened in high school. He was half expecting Deucalion to ask him to the prom. In reality he found himself presented with a tidy little business card, embossed and all strong, sexy lines on the front while he caught glimpses of a number scrawled by hand on the back.

"You can call my business number if you're in need of hard to locate antiquities," Deucalion told him, the warmth in his voice inviting Stiles to join in the joke. "And you are welcome to email me as well. But I asked Kali to write my personal cell phone number one the-- is that the one I gave you? I kept it separate in case I ran into you again, but if you could check I would appreciate it." That bordered on creepy but flirted with being sweet, and that weird in-between zone was Stiles' jam. That was where he fucking lived, and it was sort of adorable the way Deucalion was asking him to check that it was the right card. Made him a little vulnerable too, because Stiles could lie and he'd never know it.

"Yeah. The number's on the back. Uh, thanks. I'll, you know. Maybe shoot you a text or something. We can set up that playdate."

"Stiles. I don't intend for you to use the number only as a way to set up meetings with the twins. If you need anything, I hope you'll call me and let me know. We've only just met," he continued, stalling a possible protest before it could fully form on Stiles' lips. "But I believe in trusting my instincts, and I have a good feeling Stiles. I'm sure I'll bump into you again soon."

"Sure. It's a small town. And uh. Yeah. If I need someone to vent to, maybe I'll call for that too. Have a good time with Ennis and the twins."

"Thank you, Stiles. Have fun here - I hope you find what you're looking for."

As he watched Deucalion walk away, he had to admit that he had a feeling about the other man too. He just wasn't sure if it was a _good_ one or not. The guy might still be a threat, a sleeper of some kind that could rear up to bite him in the ass. But he'd been sweet to remember that he had friends who were missing, and he even seemed like maybe he wouldn't mind if Stiles called him up to use him as a sounding board for his continued search - though that was hopefully drawing to a close. In the morning he'd track down Peter and start pestering him. Until then... well. He fully planned to settle in with a few arcane tomes and figure out what the fuck Deacon had meant when he mentioned using a spark of belief to power the Mountain Ash.


End file.
